


Zen praxis in times of the Outbreak

by Arithanas



Category: Leverage
Genre: (I needed a hero!), COVID-19 fic, Gen, He's still a soldier, Pandemics, Preparation, Tons of OCs, and a surprisingly good community organizer, direct action as way of redemption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:49:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23458096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas
Summary: Eliot Spencer saw the writing on the wall pretty early and moved to save as many as possible. The big question was "how do you keep your cool when a pandemic is approaching?"
Comments: 27
Kudos: 45





	1. Vigilance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You can’t calm the storm, so stop trying._  
>  _What you can do is to calm yourself._  
>  _The storm will pass._  
>  Any crisis needs munitions and every soldier trusts their gear. In the spirit of being Always Ready, this was the first step to take.

The clattering sound of the storage rolling door was deafening in the early hours of the morning, but Eliot Spencer cared little for the noise or for the cold. The night watch of the lot pointed the beam of his flashlight at him and he flashed his keychain to let him know he was an owner. The guard had tried to give him a hard look, but Eliot volleyed it back with one of his own; by now, all the security personnel should have been notified of his recurring presence. He had been coming and going at odd hours for a month now…

The lights blinked before the ancient fluorescent tubes got ready to work. Without any hurry, Eliot took his jacket out and tossed over one of the many pallets inside this recently-rented storage unit. His eyes surveyed the pallets still wrapped and secured with plastic straps. He had been hoarding canned goods, cleaning supplies, and hygiene products for a couple of months now. He also had managed to pass Hardison’s vigilant gaze and double the brewery supplies...

Like a good redneck, Eliot Spencer had been scanning the horizon, knowing in his bones that the storm was coming, knowing he had to have gear and supplies to spare. Drop by drop, he had been filling his canteen and, despite how impressive it could look from the door in, Eliot knew it was barely a speck on the radar.

He knew he couldn’t save them all, but even one was worth the effort. 

Eliot tied his hair in a messy samurai bun and turned on the radio to catch the news and to have something to avoid. The task at hand was too important to zone out…

His faithful pocket knife came out of his pocket and tore out the shrink wrap of the first flattened cardboard boxes package. He made two rows of five boxes; ten in total. His goal was to finish at least fifty tonight, if he got the knack of it, he could probably do a little bit more. There was little space and too many things to fit inside…

The old longwave radio was giving the news in Tamil; it won't be long before they repeat them in Chinese and maybe Eliot could follow them better. This pirate station came to him by recommendation of an old army buddy, who served with another army buddy who served with another soldier who was currently moored atop an old oil platform in some place of the Pacific blasting local news of particular interest. It was a lonely, boresome job—Eliot was sure that man’s screws might be a bit loose by now—but the world lost a great journalist when he enlisted. That hero had the time and the instinct to find the next danger and to point it from good reliable sources.

The station jingle announced the change of program, Eliot got up and brushed the knees of his jeans and stretched his back. January cold caressed his belly; next time he better put on an undershirt... 

“ _Straight out of the teat_ …” Eliot mumbled and moved to the pallets. With that name, no government would ever take him seriously. It was brilliant and downright funny.

As Eliot gathered different cans and shouldered them, he paid close attention to the news. The infection has breached the international barrier and new cases were reported in Thailand, Vietnam, Japan, Singapore, and Australia. No news about America, but with some major hubs involved, Eliot was willing to bet the enemy had already touched the ground. 

On his knees, Eliot heard the tally of reported cases and made sure each box had five assorted soup cans, three units of canned fruits, two cans of condensed milk. The host made some witty comments in bad Mandarin while Eliot moved to pick boxes of granola bars, dried fruit, instant oatmeal, roasted nuts… He avoided the pallet covered in sturdy ACU fabric. Those MREs were the last resource and should be treated as such. 

A very grim report came from the radio, from a free radio in mainland China. Eliot twisted the expression and muttered to himself. Space was scarce and he still had to fit six bars of soap and alcohol rub and cleaning wipes… Sometimes he missed Shelley and his spatial reasoning; Eliot always was the people person of their pair. As the radio poured a string of names of political detainees, Eliot rearranged the contents. The first of any batch always needed fine-tuning; the rest would run more smoothly. 

The jingle sounded again. Eliot laid down another ten boxes and made his runs through the pallets to gather contents for it as the news changed to the friendly Korean radio station. The goods fit more neatly inside the box this time and Eliot picked up speed as the radio informed him about the spike in South Korea. Eliot put some pep in his step. His goal was raised to seventy-five in his mind, so he tackled the task at hand, without hurry and without pause.

If Eliot Spencer weren’t so sure his prayers would go unheeded, he would pray for this world.

Prayers were useless now. The storm was coming…


	2. Understanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Let none find fault with others;_  
>  _let none see the omissions and commissions of others,_  
>  _but let one see one’s own acts, done and undone._  
>  Two things are needed to successfully plan an operation: the lay of the land and native intel. Eliot knew the first one and the second landed on his lap by an unlikely stroke of unexpected luck.

Bar-hopping might not be the brightest idea, but Eliot was beyond his wits and he needed something to take the mind of that little notice next to the big titular. Everyone in the pub was crying and sobbing about that star who didn’t even register on Eliot’s radar. The slow crawling chyron had had even more impact than that very regrettable death.

Eliot needed air or alcohol or a quick fuck to take his mind out of the menace hanging above them all.

Five confirmed cases. 

The storm had begun to break and Eliot couldn’t say a thing because Hardison didn’t dwell well with this kind of news and because Parker’s certainly wouldn’t take well the fact of one of them might be gone next year. 

The enemy was knocking at their door… and his old yellow streak was screaming to him that he should run. This was global, where could he run? A cornered bunny can kill a hunting dog, Eliot had to fight, for lack of a better choice, and this was his last hurrah to the life he had lived so far.

Her name was Alyssa and she picked him up from the bar. She was lonely, she was bored and she was drunk, and Eliot made the mistake of politely ignoring her antics. She dragged him to the dance floor to have some harmless fun with the man who dared to treat her well. She rubbed her chest against his as a silent offering, and Eliot made her twist away from him. She was now young, blond, and full of fun and for ten seconds as her hair caressed Eliot’s face, she made him forget the bomb that shattered his last denial.

They danced because that was what humans did when the catastrophe was around the corner. The more Eliot resisted, the more Alyssa insisted, and they repeated the game as old as the daybreak until someone shouted at them to get a room. Alyssa reacted like the shout was a personal thing and dragged Eliot to a small table where a mousy brunette sipped a cocktail undaunted by the blond storm heading her way.

Eliot stood there hearing the blond woman screech at the brunette, wishing she could let go of his hand because this was heading in a very ugly direction. He almost jerked his hand from hers when Alyssa accused the brunette of being a “frigid baby snatcher!” because those were fighting words and breaking up fights between women was always an awkward business.

“Alyssa, you are drunk!” The brunette disregarded the offense with a marked eye roll. “And I’ve told you, I’m a social worker!”

“Same difference!” Alyssa shouted and tried to use her hand to gesticulate only to find Eliot at the end of it.

Eliot looked at her with a goofy smile fixed on his face. That particular grin always had the precise wet blanket effect. Alyssa made a disgusted sound and moved to her next target and Eliot wished her well.

“A social worker, eh?” Eliot asked and turned to the brunette who, apparently, was chaperoning the girl who had just brought him back from the dance floor only to ditch him in front of a gold mine. “Fascinating…” Eliot caught his real smile before it bloomed on his face. He faked a flustering to lure her in. “I mean… huh?... It sounds like hard work.”

“You don’t know the first thing about it,” she finished her drink and extended her hand. “Carol.”

“Eliot,” his own name sounded fake to his own ears. She closed her fingers first and Eliot found her handshake comforting. “There is a coffee shop right across the street if you want to tell me about it…”

Carol swept him from head to toe, measuring him, trying to divine if this simpleton of a man dressed in jeans and work boots was a menace to her safety. Eliot knew when to play the numbskull to his advantage even before Sophie polished his act.

“Let me find someone to pick Alyssa up,” Carol finally said, recovering her hand.

Eliot nodded and took a step back to let her make her call. Eliot’s mind was reeling with all the possibilities to put his stash to work. A one thousand seven hundred and eighty-three packages needed a place to go and, while he could dispense them blindly, to have someone who made her bread and butter from helping people was an asset that fell into his lap by an unlikely stroke of unexpected luck.

“You are paying, are you?” Carol asked and hooked her arm to Eliot’s.

Carol smiled at him and Eliot reminded himself that this was not a regular conquest: he had to make this woman, already basking in her victory over her friend, feel like royalty. Because she was. Anyone with her set of skills was a treasure and deserved only the best.

“Of course I am,” Eliot smiled at her. “For the pleasure of your company, a cup of joe is a bargain.”


	3. Preparation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Your work is to find out what your work should be and not to neglect it for another’s._  
>  _Clearly discover your work and attend to it with all your heart._  
>  Ideologically motivated people are the most dangerous ones. Eliot knew his brothers still remember their oath.

“And then there was this…”

Eliot stopped mid-sentence when Carol touched his arm. The veterans at the other side of the table smiled at them before turning their eyes away. Eliot knew immediately that he had taken too much time from their date chatting about long-fired shoots.

“It’s late,” Carol said, and Eliot was surprised to see her sweet smile. “I must go.”

“I’ll take you home,” Eliot said, always the gentleman, and climbed down his bar stool.

“No, please!” Carol insisted, pulling the strap of her big bag over her shoulder. “I need to get up early and this is the first night you have free!”

“At least let me take you to your car.” 

Rolling her eyes, Carol took his arm and rested her head against his battered jacket. Eliot adjusted his step to hers unless he would give the impression that he was trying to rush her. They crossed the floor of that bar Eliot knew well and the first pang of regret crossed his mind because Carol was one of the nicest girls he had ever known and Eliot had failed to practice the right speech with her. He didn’t love her, but there was a hint of affection and Eliot tried to be mindful of it.

“I should have paid more attention to you,” Eliot said when the fresh breeze caressed his face. “I know your time is limited.”

“I don’t mind,” Carol said, adjusting her bag that kept slipping down with the weight of all the files of her cases. “It’s good to hear veterans being themselves instead of just cases. You blended just right in.”

Eliot shrugged. If his plan was to work, she would never know that Eliot was semiregular in that bar. There was a reason why they had been shuffling war tales instead of talking about what they really wanted to talk about. If his vet crew passed the test from a social worker specialized in PTSD, they were fit for the work Eliot had in mind. 

The situation in Europe crossed his mind for a brief second, but then Carol put her hand on Eliot’s chest. The caress was shy, but Eliot felt the surge of that primal burning desire that had been his constant companion for years.

“You can wake me up,” Carol invited with a sultry intonation in her voice that immediately made Eliot’s hair stand on the back of his neck. “You know I can’t refuse a nice…” the word hung between them. “...breakfast in bed.”

The smile felt natural in Eliot’s face; it wasn’t her belly what needed filling. As they reached her car, Eliot was willing to admit that was not a horrible chore to perform.

“Oh, I’m a firm believer in providing full turndown service.”

Carol smiled and showed her special brand of bedroom eyes that made Eliot feel like a lamb chop ready for the skillet. 

“I do wonder if there is ever anything you offer that I _could_ turn down.”

Eliot leaned back and Carol searched for his lips, toying with him, daring him to kiss her. Eliot was not shy, but wary. The enemy had touched ground already and she roamed among those in danger... 

Under the dirty lights of the parking lot, Eliot wondered again if that’s how people in Medieval times felt while the Black Death raged around them because he had danced with Death before, but this time his soul demanded him to greet her with open arms, hold her tightly and leave her waiting. 

Dammit, the time for these games was coming to an end!

Carol gasped when Eliot’s lips touched her; her back arched and he steadied her with a gentle hand and pressed forward. She clutched his shirt and her chest rose as Eliot’s tongue caressed her mouth. Eliot’s left hand teased her between the shoulder blades and his right, without missing a beat, caught her bag before it touched the ground.

“I’ll leave the keys in the usual place,” Carol promised and her hand slid over Eliot’s arm to grasp the strap of her bag. 

Eliot, still shivering deliciously at the caress-induced goosebumps, nodded and cast his eyes down to cover for the fact that he knew he didn’t need keys for Carol’s door. Her door was the unsafest he had seen in a while. He made the note to hint her he could change it for her.

“I’ll dream of you,” Carol promised and opened her car’s door. 

Eliot spotted the green folder. In the two weeks he had been fooling around with Carol he had learned to identify her filing system. Cream folders, cases; red folders, reports; green folders, maps, and statistics. He lifted the green folder without effort and hid it behind his back. This was not stealing, he would return it to her before she even noticed it was gone and, if she noticed, Eliot had the magic trick to make her forget anything, including her name.

Carol’s car turned the corner and Eliot devoured the contents of the green file under the glare of the dirty street light. Training had taught him when to close his heart and let his brain and liver do the work, but some days that were harder than others. His brain kept tabs of the people in danger; his liver provided the anger he needed to plow forward all the societal rules and his own survival instinct that was screaming to him to take Parker and Hardison into the deep of the woods and store them safely miles away from any other human being, including himself… 

It was too late now.

Eliot turned towards the bar, kicking pebbles and wondering, again, what else could have he done. From the door in, as he hid the folder at the small of his back, Eliot looked at the table, where a pretty lady was refilling his S-shops's beer. The enemy was on the ground and one of each five might not be here next year. The world wouldn’t lose much if Eliot was one of them, but this was a veteran bar. Those were his brothers and Eliot got angry again because he had to ask them to lay their lives down for the others. Nonetheless, he fixed a relaxed expression on his face and approached the table.

“You have the map?” Eliot asked in a conspiratorial tone.

Theo, a big blond biker who had used Eliot’s mechanical skills in the past unfolded a city map over the table. He was the one Eliot was relying on for Operations. Another one who Eliot knew was a teacher, knowing without knowing they were planning something tactical, took some markers from his bag. They had been talking about this for weeks now, in fact since Italy had fallen. Eliot used one of the markers to signal the intel he had stolen from Carol. It was faulty intel, but it was better than flying blind.

“These are the hotspots we need to take care of,” Eliot mumbled and explained the situation for the next twenty minutes. 

His memory was sharp, he could point the addresses on the map with a different color to mark the vulnerable, to let them know who needed them. Between sips of beer, Eliot looked at them and he knew they didn’t know how many people struggled in their same city, he could see indignation changing their faces. Good, righteous anger was good fuel and Eliot accepted it with gratitude.

“I have supplies but they are not enough for all of them. We don’t have enough personnel either.” Eliot admitted and finished his beer. “We need to make a tactical decision…”

“Wow, Chip!” Theo stopped his beer midway and gave Eliot a dirty look. “Are you asking us to choose who we let die?”

“ _No!_ ” The outrage on Eliot’s voice surprised even him. “Did you bang your head last time you rode? I’m asking you to choose who we are going to protect. I’m telling you the brass is going to let any of these five communities down, there is no way around it: they are sick, poor, uninsured, and had a hell of trouble keeping a job, and we are not enough to cover them. Eh? Don’t come to me with your _Semper Fi_ crap and tell me you are invincible. We-are-not-enough!”

The men around the table looked at him with sober expressions; he was losing them. Eliot couldn’t blame them—he sounded like a bull-shitter radio host—but he wished for a moment he could call Shelley and put him on speaker. The enemy caught his old battle buddy in Iran and the last call they shared had kicked Eliot’s adrenaline to unsustainable levels. Under Shelley’s always-sunny speech ran a river of despair so deep that Eliot remembered that night after Herat when Shelley almost broke. The thought of that being their last call was almost unbearable.

“We are going to be outnumbered; we can’t afford to spread too thin,” Eliot mumbled and put his closed fists on the table. “Get into your head we can’t save all, but we can save many. This is war and I thought we were all aching to get into the fray again.”

Eliot felt battle numb and he hadn’t even begun to fight, but he couldn’t stop now. His eyes closed and he took a deep breath. Without these men, all his work would be for nothing. Eliot Spencer didn’t consider himself a man prone to fantasy, but behind his closed eyes he could see the row of open graves and the smoke filling the sky. He had to plow through...

“If we get this right, we are looking to a long battle,” Eliot continued with a sober tone and looked at them as if he wanted to nail them to the wall. “Keeping them at home, well supplied, will give us a fighting chance, but we have to sustain supply chains for months. South Korea is heading that way. They flattened the curve. Do you think you can find two neurons in DC to make it happen here? Eh?”

Their eyes got dark. Slowly, they look at each other, almost embarrassed. Eliot wouldn’t bet on this table if they were playing poker, because he could smell the wrath. 

“I’m asking again, gentlemen,” Eliot pointed at the map on the table, pushing his luck. “What should be our tactical targets? What is our AOR?”

They all started to speak at once and each of their words took a bit of weight from Eliot’s shoulders.

“My good-for-nothing nephew has some trouble-making friends…”

“I can smuggle some MRE from some AnCaps I know…”

“My club can make rounds. They are civilians, but I can make them march…”

“Let’s ask the sisters in leather for reinforcement…”

Eliot felt the air rushing into his lungs and, when it left his lungs, it did it with a sigh of relief. With his brothers by his side, Eliot began to believe they had a fair shake to survive this clusterfuck.


	4. Temper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _To support mother and father, to cherish wife and children,_  
>  _and to be engaged in peaceful occupation — this is the greatest blessing._  
>  Leverage team seems to have taken the pandemic challenge in stride.

Hardison got the notice of the Oregon Health Authority the night before, but it has totally blindsided him. He had held a staff meeting and sent everyone home, fully paid, for the remainder of the crisis. Parker had heard the news and stood her place by Hardison during the meeting. If the news had shaken her, she didn’t show it. Eliot disappeared without a warning before Hardison could tell him the news, but Hardison was not worried. Eliot was a big boy, and cautious by nature, Hardison knew he didn’t have to care for his hitter. In spite of all that, this news was unsettling and this was the kind of security issue Eliot would bring forth in normal times. 

Parker and he talked briefly about expanding their staff healthcare plans before she went to bed and Hardison worked for a bit in backdating and expanding their existing policies. Then, their staff needs fully covered, Hardison spent the night in a fevered pitch of queries; he doubted his web crawlers had ever worked so much ever. The more Hardison learned, the more scared he got. This had the potential to wipe out a ton of people…

As soon as five o’clock in the morning sounded, Hardison called his Nana, knowing very well she would be up and about and on her second coffee—no, tea. Doctors had docked her coffee on account of her heart condition. Nana, who’s even more stubborn than Eliot and who had survived at least three flu pandemics, surely would be very reluctant to stay inside as she should.

“No, Nana, no…” Hardison argued with that woman who loved him like a real mother as he wiped the control table again with Clorox wipes. “I’m not saying you are _old_! I’m saying you need to stay inside and protect… Nana, I tell you, you are not immune to this because you live through the swine flu!”

Parker’s head peeked over the rail of the catwalk. Her stunned expression was framed by a cloud of sleep-tousled blond hair and Hardison almost smiled until he remembered he had never given Parker the talk about proper social distancing. Without thinking, Hardison tossed the cleaning wipe into the wastebasket. Parker began to saunter his way with her early morning smile.

“Nana, please,” Hardison begged, holding the phone with his shoulder as he rubbed his hands with hand sanitizer. “Please stay home, for the babies you have at home, for your bingo friends! Stay in and I’ll send you enough food and cleaning supplies for you and all your neighborhood!”

Nana was giving him the speech about Vietnam and about the riots and about how she had survived thirty youngsters and that there was not a cold that could stop her. Hardison knew he had to find a way to keep her home, but Parker was climbing down the last of the steps and his brain—Eliot always called the part of his own brain with an attitude his monkey brain. Well, Hardison’s own monkey brain was in a mud-slinging mood—acted before Hardison could stop himself.

“Good...”

“Hey!” Hardison almost screamed as he pushed the disinfectant spray trigger and covered her in a fresh cloud of lemon breeze-scented alkyl. “Social distancing, woman! Social distancing!”

Parker coughed and waved to disperse the fragrant cloud. Hardison heard something about precautions on the phone and, knowing that was as far as he would reach, Hardison blew a kiss to his nana and finished the call.

“Alec!” Parker complained, “had you lost your mind?”

“Almost, babe, almost,” Hardison conceded, rushing to his keyboard to place an order to feed an army and to keep it clean too. “Haven’t you heard the news?”

“Fair, but one thing is being cautious and another..." Parker swept her arm to point at all the cleaning supplies scattered about, “ _this_!”

“Better safe than sorry.”

Parker stopped and took a big breath. Hardison pushed enter and paid attention to his surroundings for the first time in a while. The air smelled like bacon, freshly fried bacon. Parker moved to the door to the dining room in her pretty pajamas and Hardison was right next to her, putting a surgical mask over his face.

The dining room smelled like a pool and tables were pushed to the sides and the back. The lights of the kitchen were on. Eliot was scowling at a grill full of burgers in his jeans and a black shirt; a red bandana held his hair back. A line of bacon presses was smoking next to the patties, challenging the smell of disinfectant. Eliot barely spared them a look before he pulled a cutting board and started to turn a crate of tomatoes into slices. 

“Haven’t you heard the news?” Hardison exclaimed from behind his mask.

“I have been paying attention since December,” Eliot shrugged and took another tomato. “The pandemic is no news.”

“Why haven’t you…” Out of habit, Parker extended her hands to touch the bar and Eliot pointed the knife at her. “...told us about it?”

“Because I wanted to avoid this embarrassment,” Eliot sliced another tomato and pointed at Hardison with his chin. “Those are useless, by the way. And if you have better ones, hospitals would need them soon. Save them!”

“Said the man using gloves,” Hardison retorted, but he did no movement to take the mask off. 

“FSIS's best practices. These are nitrile, food-grade, and they keep my hands clean while I cook,” Eliot explained and dumped the slices on a foil container. “I will be cooking all day long.”

“The brewpub is closed.” Hardison pointed, as Parker moved to the bar.

“I know.” Eliot shook the shredded lettuce from the antibacterial wash by the sink. 

“We won’t have any customers.” He could hear Parker scrubbing her hands in the crystal-washing sink.

“I know!” Eliot took another tomato and almost squashed it.

“I don’t get it....” Hardison mumbled as Parker passed his way with a stack of compostable clamshells. “Babe, do you get it?”

“Dammit, Hardison! We have a surplus!” Eliot protested but he kept slicing tomatoes at blinding speed. “We’ve overstocked our pantry for St. Paddy day and you closed the brewpub! What do you want me to do with all this food? Would you rather let it all go to waste?”

Before Hardison could have a word edgewise, the front door open and a family of five crossed their threshold. They had managed the brewpub long enough to know how a tourist looked like and they couldn’t hide the shock of their faces: Parker’s showed outrage at their trespassing; Eliot was about to burst a blood vessel.

“We are closed!” 

They couldn’t have uttered the words in perfect synchrony if they had rehearsed it. That remarkable feat, however, was lost to these intruders.

“No, you are open,” The mother said, pulling her children in. “You are the only place open and I can smell the burgers. My _precious babies_ are hungry. _You_ are open!”

“We are not,” Hardison, always the perfect host, took a step forward. “Please, get out.” 

“That’s a bunch of bullhockey, _boy_ ,” the father said and finger snapped at Hardison. “Fix us a table! Earn your tip!” 

That was it. Parker, who usually let anything slide, almost flung herself to the man, ready to put Eliot’s lessons to good work. Hardison—too worried for her safety to mind the man’s rude words—barely had time to wrap his arms around her, but he couldn’t stop Eliot from taking action at his usual blinding speed.

“You have _exactly_ three seconds to turn tail and get lost…” Eliot warned in a deep growl as he walked out of the kitchen and adjusted the knife in his hand. This time, he was not thinking of slicing tomatoes. 

Eliot was a scary man, but when he upped the crazy not even the most entitled tourist could doubt his intentions. Among the children's cries demanding burgers, the parents heeded Eliot’s advice. Eliot scoffed, turned his knife around, and moved to the kitchen once again. Hardison wondered what had made him so mad. Then, he noticed the antibacterial rubber mats around the entrance.

“Don’t close the door,” Eliot grumbled as he lifted the bacon presses. “I’m waiting for the cavalry…”

Parker looked at Hardison and he could read, right on her face, that she thought Eliot had lost his marbles in the middle of this madness. Hardison was not sure if he had a different opinion.


	5. Range

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _If you are facing in the right direction,_  
>  _all you need to do is keep on walking._  
>  Day-to-day operations presented some interesting challenges. The main thing to remember was: keep going!

The brewpub was never more active before. The dining area was the hub of activity, with people coming and going at the most untimely hours.

A horde of teenagers Eliot had befriended God knows when piled up care boxes against a wall during the morning and had a blast of sticking notices of extra help one of them had printed at their dad’s workshop. Against a wall, Toby’s students were assembling burgers and bagging fries keeping at least three feet between them wearing aprons and gloves. A troop of bickers wearing their colors was currently hauling a batch of hot food to deliver to the homeless; their leader—who insisted on calling Eliot ‘Chip’ for unexplained reasons—was making sure all the lunch bags had a couple of water bottles and a hand sanitizer bottle before handing them over.

Eliot had commissioned Hardison to design and print neon-colored notes for people who self-isolate to tape to their doors as a sign they needed help. Hardison scoffed, sent the job to a small local printing shop, and went to hack the cell companies databases to give all their volunteers unlimited phone plans.

Hardison's mood had improved a great length since his Nana was safe inside her home, sewing four-ply cotton masks for veterinarians who, in turn, will give their air-filtration masks to hospitals. Her pastor had talked her into it before Hardison could call her back. Also, some days ago, they got a notice about Sophie and Nate who had stolen a yacht from the coast of France a month ago and they were quarantined in high luxury, alive and well, in the middle of the Atlantic.

Parker, always the kookiest mastermind, had a plan of the city marked with Crayola to track up all the neighborhoods they covered. She had to find something to do after Eliot chewed her ass out for scrabbling ‘You are not dead yet!’ over the hot food containers. She was currently planning where to send the next batch of veterans that were bound to appear at their door anytime soon. Colorful pieces of paper with addresses covered a table as she sorted out who to send to the elderly, the immunocompromised, and the mothers with little children; Hardison knew she had found a better way to arrange the workload.

“Hey, babe!” Hardison greeted and, out of habit, went for a quick peck on the cheek.

“Tut-tut-tut!” Parker cried out and put a piece of paper between them. “Social distancing!”

Hardison took a step back with a look of shock on his face. Parker smiled and stuck out her tongue. She was kidding and tossing him back his panicked words. She had waited for a chance the whole week!

“You _naughty_ **_gal_**!” He cried out as if he couldn’t believe her moxie. “I need someone to run an errand.” He said seamlessly, putting his printed work order and one of their overhead cost cards. “There is a printing thing to pick up.”

“I’m on it!” Parker pounced at the paper and started to check her phone to find a free volunteer.

“What do I help you with now?”

Parker put down her phone and tilted her head, a bit lost inside her mind. Then she turned her eyes to the kitchen where Eliot had claimed for himself and ruled like Pluto in Hades with his iron fist covered in black nitrile gloves. Hardison looked at their hitter with soft eyes. He was stirring a pot of frozen chili to speed the thawing process as if the stew owed him money. Parker’s eyes crisped a bit and her bottom lip pouted. The bandana held back his dirty hair; Eliot’s lips were slightly cracked; he was wearing the same black shirt that now sported white sweat stains big enough to serve as a fantasy map. Hardison recalled he hadn't seen Eliot sleep in the last three days.

“The girl he had been seeing dumped him,” Parker whispered and her voice betrayed something that might be taken for pity with a good dose of goodwill.

“Oh, did she?” Hardison mumbled, not certain about how to feel. Eliot’s dalliances were never that serious and his hitter never took it to heart.

“Yeah. ‘I’m sorry it didn’t work out,’ Eliot said two days ago on his way to the front door. He looked in a hurry and he was even grumpier when he returned.” Parker paid her phone attention for a bit. “I don’t think I saw him eat today…”

“Say no more, babe,” Hardison interrupted her and leaned to kiss her hair.

Hardison approached the kitchen with a wide smile; Eliot looked at him, rolled his eyes, and minded the chili. The batch of food for the paramedics was almost done, but Eliot didn’t show signs of slowing down. This cooking marathon had taken some of Eliot’s modest beer gut that Parker had affectionately baptized ‘his power store’; Their hitter was lean and mean these days…

“Are you grief cooking, Eliot?” Hardison asked in that tone that always annoyed Eliot beyond his wits. “Did your girl dump you?”

“She didn’t dump me!” Eliot took another ladleful and poured another cup half full over the packed rice. Eliot looked positively outraged at Hardison’s words. “Besides, we ended it two weeks ago because we were better lovers than friends.”

“Then what didn't work out?”

“She tried to fix her AC herself!” The outrage jumped another octave. The ladle banged the side of the pot as Eliot hung it from the lip. “Had you been hearing my calls?” 

“Parker heard you when you moved outside,” Hardison confessed and raised his hands. “We are just worried.”

“I’m worried you are going to put those hands on the bar without sanitization!”

Eliot said the words without taking his eyes from the shredded cheese he had been adding to the chili cups. Hardison took a bottle of gel he had refilled from the plastic drum one of Eliot’s friends had brought in the middle of the night. It was excellent and soft to the skin and 200 liters of the stuff was nothing to sneeze at. He made a big show of cleaning his hands for Eliot’s sake.

“When did you sleep last, Eliot?”

“I don’t recall.” For someone without rest, Eliot was surprisingly accurate with those plastic lids.

“Have you eaten anything?”

“Scraps from between batches.” Six cups of chili with all the sides were piled up over the bar. “Runners!”

“The next person who walks in wearing their two pieces,” The leader of the bikers cried in desperation, “it’s going to be sent home with a broken leg!”

“And I’m going to break the other leg!” Eliot shouted over the bar. “This is a clean space!” 

“You will burn out.” Hardison noticed, passing a young volunteer the cups with his freshly sanitized hands. Behind his back, Parker and the bike leader were arguing again. “If you don’t take a break, you know you will.”

“Not yet,” Eliot grumbled as he scrubbed the pot without taking out the gloves and without paying any attention to the fight. “I don’t have time for that nonsense!”

“You better won’t, because I have a job for you and Parker.”

Eliot froze in the middle of his cleaning and turned slowly toward Hardison, his square tightened, his back straightened and his eyes closing slowly. There it was, that’s the Eliot Spencer people had learned to fear. 

“What job?” Eliot closed his gloved hands into loose fists. His whole stance was begging for something to punch.

“You want the deets?” Hardison cracked a smile. “The price is a shower, a nap, and a proper meal.”

Hardison left the invitation hanging. He had known long ago that there was nothing to gain in pushing Eliot against his will. Eliot returned to his pot and, with both hands resting on the sink, took a few shallow breaths. Then, with care, he peeled off the black nitrile gloves from his hands.

“Memo!” Eliot shouted and let his shoulders drop. “Take the kitchen! We need thirty lunches for doctors and nurses.”

“Yes, chef!” The whole line replied as the chosen one moved out of their ranks. 

Eliot walked slowly to the backroom, the cooks looked at him as if they were about to clap. Even Parker and the leader of the biker gang stopped their bickering to pay attention. Hardison noticed there was something like awe in the air and followed Eliot to the backroom because he was not sure his friend could get to the couch without collapsing.


	6. Compassion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In whom there is no sympathy for living beings:_  
>  _know him as an outcast._  
>  Not even a quarantine can stop Leverage work.

Eliot shuddered when he felt the caress on his right lobe, Parker’s giggle followed through and Eliot knew his nap was over. Crime reclaimed his attention.

Eliot got up from the recliner and stretched his back with a grunt. That’s the reason why he refused to get down to catch some z’s, his body was demanding more sleep and rest. Eliot pushed the idea to the back of his head and picked up the fresh long-sleeved shirt. Parker was gathering her hair in a ponytail by his side. They both slipped into their work boots and tied them in a race that Parker won, as always. They picked up their jackets on the way out and the earbuds found their place before the helmets were fixed securely.

Parker jumped over her green and gold Ecosse Heretic and Eliot climbed behind her. This work was time-sensitive. There will be no briefing this time, Hardison would stay behind to mind the operation and they will hit the target. All the relevant info will be given through the coms. 

“We are en route,” Eliot informed as he felt the powerful machine starting. “Send the truck on my signal.”

“Give us the information!” Parker demanded, screaming over the loud roar of her motorcycle. 

Eliot peeked over Parker’s shoulder. The empty streets were eerie and comforting at the same time. There were some people strolling down the street with grocery bags on their arms, but most of the population around the brewery was keeping themselves inside.

“You are paying a visit to one Evan Loughty,” Hardison began as Parker hit the highway. “Graduated from Duke three years ago. Failed entrepreneur and accidental hedge fund manager. His assets are an ugly big ass McMansion and at least thirty offshore accounts.”

“Are you on that?” Parker asked and revved the engine as she headed to Twelvemile Corner.

“Oh? Am I on that?” Hardison’s voice didn’t leave room for any doubt. “I’m leaving him enough money for toilet paper!”

“Don’t be too generous!” Eliot grumbled and slid closer to Parker. That beast she was driving always demanded a closer fit.

“I’ll treat him like he treats the noobs he crosses on World of Warcraft,” Hardison assured them. “That waste of space is charging a 700 percent markup for medical PPE!”

“He’s what?” Parker screeched indignantly. 

“What you’d heard, woman,” Hardison said so matter-of-factly. “He’s raking up profits in his underwear while posting racist stuff all over the internet.”

“You got to make him hurt, Eliot,” Parker demanded and took Glisan street like her hair was on fire. 

“I’ll have a chat with him,” Eliot promised, improving his grip around her girth, though he was sure Hardison was doing enough damage already.“You make sure to clean his stores!”

“What are we retrieving?” Parker asked and ran a red light with complete impunity.

“According to his recent purchases, you have to empty two eight by ten storage sheds and more than half a million on medical PPE. I better send you two trucks.”

“Do that.”

Parker was finally slowing down so Eliot let Hardison’s rant about doing his job fade to the back. They rolled down a residential lot in Gresham with big houses. They didn’t even need to check the address, their target advertised its location with a wide array of window shapes and mismatched columns. Dying flower beds rested between the columns and the walls were covered in dead ivy. That house was definitely a current code violation.

“Does he have any family over?” Eliot asked as he took off his helmet. 

His eyes looked at the windows, most of them were dark and one on the second floor was flickering in a familiar way.

“Nope!” Hardison chirped on their coms. “I assume you are in front of the house. That seven thousand feet monstrosity is for him and him alone.”

“I’m feeling sick,” Parker commented and ran to the front door. 

Eliot was just behind her. As she worked the door lock, Eliot disabled the perimeter alarm. Ten seconds and they were in. Fantastic music assaulted them as soon as the pass was free and even Parker, who was used to it, grimaced at the sound.

“The safe is on the first floor.”

“And Evan is camping on the second floor,” Eliot informed and moved to the stairs. “Send the trucks. This won’t take long.”

Eliot climbed up, trying to be sneaky out of habit. He was silently judging this man by the state of his home, from the cobwebs to the months-old dirt on the rail. The issue of justice in this world would have to wait because, right now, Eliot Spencer had a more pressing matter at hand.

Evan Loughty sat on a leather-covered chair, remote control on hand, in front of a 77" OLED Tv screen framed by bad replicas of Tv show swords. Eliot noticed he was reasonably fit and young, and lounged alone in very dirty boxers, just as Hardison promised. Eliot began to rehearse his best fatherly voice before he forced that chair to turn, even before he thought of slapping his headset off his head with a backhanded slap. Evan Loughty fell off his chair with an unarticulated whimper. 

“Evan, I came to collect your donation,” Eliot said, looming over the young hoarder, “with Portland medical community’s gratitude.”

“Donation?” Evan tried to get up, but Eliot pushed him down again. “I haven’t done any _donation_?”

The disgust in Evan’s voice almost pushed Eliot over the brink. Among deep breaths, Eliot had to remind himself that this was not an arms dealer or a child trafficker—both types of people that years ago would have found a very gruesome death by his hand. Evan noticed his hesitation and Eliot caught him by the neck and slammed his head against that floorboard that hasn't seen a mop since the summer of 2018 by the look of it. 

“You know, Evan? I’ve been trying mindful meditation and other zen practices for years now,” Eliot mumbled with his eyes half-closed. “And I’m really trying _very hard_ to harness my violent nature. I’m trying, but the honorable, blameless, and innocent-of-harm-to-others life keeps eluding me as long as people like you exist…” Eliot stopped his tirade with an exhausted sigh. “See my problem?”

“No?” Evan delivered his doubtful reply in the most jarring, churlish tone.

“Money, Evan, was supposed to be a tool, not an end,” Eliot leaned forward. “A tool to make life easier, like a hammer. When you use a hammer, you have to be in the moment or else you might smash your thumb with it. And this is what has happened here. You hoarded, you price-gouged, now you are about to lose your stash and a little bit more…”

Outside the dirty window, the rain was starting to fall. Evan tried to fight at the sound of those words and Eliot delivered another walling. The slam was only hard enough to make him know his situation was dire.

“This is your thumb being smashed, Evan,” Eliot continued and he almost smiled benignantly at that horrible young man. “You will recover from this—sacrifices must be made, just saying!—but this is your chance to learn not to play with hammers.”

Eliot let go of that neck he was fighting hard not to crush and got up. He had said his piece, he had terrorized this young man, and he really didn’t want to start something that would end badly. Eliot Spencer turned his back because Evan was young, Evan might change. 

The grunt behind his back informed him that this was not the night Evan would learn how to be a better person.

Eliot only twisted his side and caught that fake sword with one hand before catching the arm that held it. In a blink, Evan flew in a perfect arch and landed on his back with the crack of wood and bones. Eliot delivered the first punch to that head without thinking but stopped before he could deliver the second. There was no need to beat an unconscious foe.

“I’m going out,” Eliot informed and, without thinking, he stole a shiny thing on his way out. He only knew it was something nerdy and bright for Hardison. “How’s the looting going?”

“You need to see this!” Parker screamed in his ear and Eliot smiled. “This is a good loot!”

Eliot rushed down the stairs in a hurry to help Parker with whatever she had found. That was their reason to be in the place. He crossed the door and received the cold rain like a motherly kiss to soothe the little boy who still wanted to go up and beat the bad man.

“Eliot, wait!”

“Hardison!”

“I need you to do something, bro!” Hardison replied on the earbud. “Point your phone camera to the lawn…”

Hardison might have an idea, and life had taught him to hear his partner. Eliot took out his phone and shielded it with his body while he looked for the camera app and pointed it to the ground as Hardison asked. The camera showed a mess of moving gray grain and then he saw it: a straight red line.

“Do you see the line?” Eliot could almost hear the smile through the coms. Eliot grunted. “That’s his 300 Mbps fiber FTTH connection…”

“Cut the geek speak!” Eliot urged, feeling how his hair began to drip. “I’m standing in the rain!”

“Cut the line, cut his internet!” Hardison shrieked inside his ear. “That will give me the time to lock the bastard out of his investment accounts and other fun sites…”

Eliot felt the smile over the grimace. He put the phone inside his pocket and noticed an abandoned trowel in one of the flower beds. Eliot returned to the spot and dug the trowel at a right angle to the ground until he found resistance. 

Eliot closed his eyes, palm pressed down against the handle. His chest felt heavy with anger and he released it on the tool with one dry downward hit. The cable held for a brief moment, but Eliot could feel it snap, and that brought sweet release to the feeling in his core. He wiped the water from his brow and eased the tool from the waterlogged earth. Rain would erase all the traces of his crime. 

Parker was standing at the corner of the house and made signs for him to approach. Eliot trotted toward her, tossing the trowel into a flower bed. A third truck was idling next to the row of four storage units and Charle’s good-for-nothing nephew and his pals were filling the second one with the contents. Apparently, this excuse of human being’s stash was a lot larger than expected. 

Eliot stood in front of the operation for a brief moment, feeling stress washing away. Boxes marked as gloves, masks, shields, and gowns passed from hand to hand along with wipes and drums of cleaners. This had to ease the needs of the troops in the front line for a week at least. Parker offered him a fist bump and Eliot replied to his favorite partner in crime before rushing to help the kids to loot.


	7. Patience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In separateness lies the world’s greatest misery;_  
>  _in compassion lies the world’s true strength_  
>  Eliot Spencer knew this was a possibility, but he never expected it would come so soon.

Eliot woke up curled in the big bed. The cold mist of Hardison’s favorite humidifier was hitting him in the face. A headache pounded his head and Eliot did his best to recall how he ended up there. Eliot turned on the bed and wondered where his clothes could be in that room he knew so well. Hardison’s doll collection covered a wall and Parker’s harnesses framed the screen, all was so familiar and so strange at the same time.

Still trying to buck up, Eliot remembered his friendly chat with the hoarder and smiled a bit, then he sniffed against the pillow. They had delivered most of the PPE to the nearest hospital and the cleaning supplies they didn’t need to a church-run shelter. Then he took a shower—that explained the boxers and the tank top but no jeans or shirt—Parker and he were taking a twenty-minute pause and Hardison brought them dinner from scraps of the operation downstairs. Eliot remembered he had felt so tired and Parker was running her fingers through his wet hair… He must have fallen asleep with his head on Parker’s lap...

The screen on top of the credenza came to life, a shower of electric light drowned the soft sunlight peeking shyly through the blinds over his head. Spooked, Eliot sat on the bed and a stab of pain pierced his forehead. It was strong enough to distract Eliot from the myriad of small body aches that ran through his flesh. His hand flew to his forehead and his fingers reported that hair was braided in neat cornrows. That was Hardison’s handiwork because Parker’s specialty was French braids. 

“Good morning, sunshine!” Hardison said from the screen. “Welcome to your quarantine spot!”

Eliot blinked at the cold LED light with a dopey expression. That didn’t make any sense; Hardison must be joking. The bed lost its big dimensions and Eliot looked around the room feeling the walls were much closer than he remembered them… Despite the humidifier, his sinuses were so inflamed he felt it like a punch under the eyes and Eliot was trying hard not to sniffle. He wouldn’t give Hardison the satisfaction... 

“You are sick,” Hardison informed him in a mocking matter-of-fact tone. “Yesterday you had a one oh one fever and I don’t need to tell you what that could mean,” Hardison was gesticulating on the screen. “Now, maybe you have it, and maybe you don’t. Why chance it?” 

The door of the room was closed and Eliot felt his chest tightening with sharp pain. His jeans were folded neatly at the foot of the bed. Eliot, fighting the need to sniffle like a toddler, put his hand next to a tray with a wide array of over-the-counter medicines to pull himself up and pick his jeans up.

“ _Gesundheit!_ ” Hardison wished him and that transformed the horrible tickling into a sudden explosion. Eliot barely had time to cover his face with his tank top. “I don’t know if you have been paying attention, but we cleaned the back room, so the only place with the virus is that room...”

“Dammit, Hardison!” Eliot snarled at him once he caught his breath and jumped into his pants.

“Do you hear yourself? You sound like _The Nanny_! Do us a favor and be the sensible one! That’s _your_ job!” 

The sniffles were tormenting him again; Eliot raised his head to stop them and caught his ghostly reflection on the screen and groaned: he had totally forgotten about those darned braids. Before he could work up some rage, he noticed the pistol-shaped object pointed at his head and jumped back with an unarticulated grumble of confusion. Parker looked at him with a puzzled expression before she read the digital screen of the infrared thermometer.

“He still has a fever!” Parker reported and scurried down the ventilation shaft.

“What the…?”

“You heard the boss! Stay in that room. You have the whole bed and big Tv and we will send you food, drinks, snacks and all the decongestant syrup you want…”

The walls began to close on him at the rate of his throbbing brain. In a huff, Eliot crossed the space between the bed and the door wondering how he could unbraid his hair before he climbed down the stairs. No way he would stay holed up while there was work to do!

“I know I can’t keep you there, bro,” Hardison kept talking in his most amiable tone. There was defeat in his voice. “Hey, that door couldn’t even stop a cat!”

Eliot scoffed and put his hand on the knob. There was a ton of work to do. Parker had promised to send a hundred lunches to the Samaritan for the medical staff. He had no time to play Hardison’s games. This was not the time to succumb to his friend's hypochondriacal antics... He should be on duty in front of the stove, cooking that tall order. 

“So, you got the bug, Chip!”

Eliot turned around surprised to hear a different voice; Hardison was not on the screen anymore. Fourteen small screens surrounded the main image. The speaker was letting in the unmistakable clicking sound of Theo’s Black Hawk bike. Eliot would always recognize that sound because they had spent many a night tinkering with that old lady and draining cans of beer. Theo had a ton of war stories of his father… Theo also had a camera fixed to his helmet and he was riding fast; Eliot could almost feel the iron beast shaking between his legs.

“It will happen to everyone in the end, but I’m glad it was you and not me this time!” 

Theo turned the corner laughing and entered one of the neighborhoods Carol had marked as of high risk. Eliot was not sure why, but he shuffled to stand in front of the screen with a slacking jaw. 

“That blonde sprite had a general brain inside her pretty head, lemme tell you,” Theo chuckled again and reduced his speed. “Your friend said you wanted to patrol this part of the town and I obliged him. As you can see, we put up the posters to keep the strangers away.” 

Theo stopped in front of one house to point at the poster that warned of immunosuppressed inhabitants. A young kid peered through the window and waved hello. Theo waved back and Eliot caught himself before he could raise his hand.

“That tyke really liked the doll uncle Eliot sent her. Where do you get those ideas from, Chip?”

Theo started his bike again as another bike—a Ducati—breezed by his side. The engine was too smooth and Eliot identified the rider—an Asian nine-to-fiver called Dave—without any difficulty. 

“Someone ran out of insulin,” Theo explained as he moved through quiet streets. “Get comfy. This is gonna be a long one…” 

Against his will, a smile appeared on Eliot’s face, and sat on the bed. His watery eyes roamed the little screens as Theo kept giving his report. There were people in his kitchen, cooking those lunch boxes. A gang of kids was hauling care boxes through the front door. A gaggle of women in biker’s garb was filling bottles with hand sanitizer. Parker was standing on top of a table, doing wide sweeps with her arms like a demented conductor. Eliot’s claustrophobia felt soothed through that giant electronic eye.

“And we finished this sector,” Theo’s voice came clearly through the speaker. He had stopped before merging into the highway. “We are doing some good, but there is a lot more to do. Let me know if you want to come with me to another patrol.” 

Eliot sneezed again into his shirt. The headache was strong as ever, but somehow it felt more tolerable now. Maybe this was the time to delegate; Eliot got the ball rolling but now Parker and Hardison and Theo and Toby’s students had to carry it out to the goal line. 

“Take care, Chip, and set the example for the youngsters.” 

The screen filled with a menu of the cameras against a gray background, but Theo’s last words rattled on his aching brain for a long time. After a while, with an annoyed sigh, Eliot picked up the remote, moved to the pillows, popped a pill from the nightstand to make the headache bearable, and chose his window to the exterior. 

Eliot Spencer was still on duty and his role now was to embrace the suck and wait until the storm passed over his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Thank you for reading this fic. It was planned to be an eight-part to mimic the structure of the Noble Eightfold Path. I've started to write this story when this was supposed to be a fortnight of voluntary seclusion. What can I say? I've surprised myself with my optimism.
> 
> Part 8, that I called "Hope", was supposed to be an epilogue, a return to normal life. I don't want to be jossed by real-life so I decided to embrace the suck and wait until we could see the light at the end of the tunnel (or at the very least wait until Portland reached its projected peak) before I post it.
> 
> Thank you for following, you have no idea of how much you've done for my mental health!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [As I walk through the valley...](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23583604) by [Arithanas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas)




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